Last Night
by DeepBlueQL
Summary: Seto at a dance. SetoAnzu KaibaTea


Title: Last Night  
Author: DeepBlueQL  
Pairing/characters: Seto/Anzu  
Word count: 830  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Seto goes to a dance.  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: I don't own YGO.  
AN: This story disregards Japanese name customs and is based off an American high school tradition (at least the way I remember it).

Bodies roll to the beat of music whose lyrics, well, even he would never use some of these words. The air, heavy with artificial fog and teenaged sweat, shimmers in the cheesy disco lights. His nose wrinkles in distaste at the astounding aptitude of his "peers" to make utter spectacles of themselves while, for the most part, sober.

He avoids the conglomerate of exposed skin and cheap shiny fabrics and stands on the far most fringes of the dance floor, careful to keep any part of his suit from touching the sullied walls. Determined to avoid even incidental eye contact, he finds himself taking in his surroundings. The student government, social idiots operating under delusions of academic grandeur, had put forth their precedented mediocre effort: paltry crepe paper, tacky posters, and glitter on every surface that could hold it.

He lets out a breath in annoyance. Being forced to attend had been the worst degradation, but he takes some small solace in the fact his first high school dance will remain his only. It's the last dance for the graduating class, held on their graduation night; attendance for every graduate mandatory.

He begins striding for the door, certain he's served his sentence, but he sees her and his steps still. The tide of slick and sticky hormonal pubescents ebbs to reveal her, dancing and laughing, unconcerned with all others, untouchable by anything but the music. She moves in tandem to the beat, the fluidity of her actions alluding to a gracefulness she hides during the day. His heart twitches, and in a moment of epiphany, he regrets not going to other such previous functions, certainly the chance to have seen her dance was reason enough.

His jaw tightens as he sees a hand snake around her waist. She turns and smiles politely at the intruder, but, unwilling to conform to another's rhythm, she shakes her head no. Rather than desist, the faceless interloper brings about another arm, forcing her close against him. The smile drops, and the twirling spotlight momentarily catches the hardened glint in her eyes. He finds his body unconsciously leaning toward the conflict, his left foot falling forward to restore balance.

One of a group of clods, the stench leaving little doubt as to the idiot's intoxication off of contraband liquor, stumbles into him. By the time he finishes disemboweling the fool with a practiced glare, the gyrating mob has shifted, swallowing his vantage of her. He scans the pulsating crowd with an unfamiliar desperation to make sure she's ok.

A small hand softly taps his shoulder. He turns to snarl at whatever girl silly enough to approach him and finds himself staring into eyes a darker blue than he's ever seen them, her pupils impossibly large, so they might better take in the scant lighting.

"Kaiba," she says, her hushed voice somehow carrying above the clamor of the rest of the world. He looks at her, unsure of the steps to this dance between the two of them. She motions with her hand, waving him to incline his head closer to her so, he assumes, she can more easily speak to him.

He smirks just a little as he complies, amused by the glaring difference in their heights, but also instinctively rolls his eyes, expecting to hear her traditional sermon on everlasting friendship. However, with his ear so close to her mouth, her warm breath fanning across his cheek, he realizes he wants her words, as trite as they may be, so long as they were for him, from her.

A second stretches and he feels the tug of self-consciousness. She doesn't speak and he wonders if this is some strange joke. The ridiculous thought that he's accidentally wished this moment, with the two of them so close, to last forever crosses his mind, but the dull roar of a few hundred undulating teenagers alerts him to time's continued passage.

Just as he's about to straighten, puzzlement making its rare appearance on his face, she tips forward, and her lips press against the crest of his cheekbone, just below the corner of his eye. He shoots back up, his spine tense, his hand held to his face as if he had been struck rather than kissed.

He stares at her, silently demanding answers, but all she offers is a small smile. His surprise complements his confusion, and he struggles to find words. The fever from the soft pressure of her lips spreads across his face and burns his hand.

"I'll miss you. Please, don't ever forget me, Seto," she says, and again he marvels at her ability to whisper while others scream.

"Anzu," he chokes out, but before he can begin to stumble over his words, she turns around and makes her way back into the crowd, sparing him the embarrassment. As she walks away, he feels the indelible mark of her lips and knows that, for the rest of his life, it will never fade.

end


End file.
